


Hearts on Fire

by allimarie_xf



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bratva AU, Bratva Oliver Queen, F/M, Feelings, Olicity Clue, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, okay but with some plot because it's me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/pseuds/allimarie_xf
Summary: "Waitress at a mob-owned strip club” is pretty far down on Felicity Smoak's list of career choices, but after everything that happened at MIT, it's about the only place willing to let her hide in plain sight while she figures out how to go on living.Meanwhile, Bratva Captain Oliver Queen is not happy to find himself back in the United States, where even at this seedy Vegas strip club, he is faced with reminders of the monster he's become.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 157
Kudos: 409
Collections: Olicity Clue





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is canon-divergent AU which takes place during 2011/2012ish (sometime during the season 5 flashbacks), with a few significant changes:
> 
> 1\. Adrian Chase is not canon Adrian Chase.
> 
> 2\. Altering timelines a little so that Felicity was on track to get her dual Masters’ at MIT when she was 21, not 19, because I need Felicity’s thing with Cooper to roughly coincide with Oliver’s Bratva days. 
> 
> 3\. Let's assume that when Bratva Oliver goes to the US, he cuts his hair and showers and grooms himself (think season 1 hair). Because that unkempt mane from the season 5 flashbacks was too similar to pre-island Ollie’s serial killer haircut. And there's just nothing sexy about that.

_There's something in the air tonight_   
_A feeling that you have that could change your life_

The crowded press of bodies is sweltering, stifling, and for the first time ever Felicity is thankful for the criss-crossing strips of fabric that pass for a uniform in this godforsaken place. 

Or she would be, except for the greedy, hungry eyes following her around the room. Eyes belonging almost entirely to sweating, corpulent men of a certain age, high-ranking international members of the Russian mafia, all currently enjoying the hospitality of this particular Vegas strip club.

It’s not her ideal place of employment. In fact, “waitress at a mob-owned strip club” is pretty far down on her list of career choices, but after everything that happened at MIT -- 

the images she can’t forget flash through her mind...

_...late nights huddled in front of a computer in a darkened dorm room..._

_...Cooper being dragged away by the FBI..._

_...Agents pounding on her door in the middle of the night..._

_...hours of interrogation, the confusion and heartbreak bleeding together when she realized it was her word against Cooper’s..._

_...her terrified decision to flee, leaving everything behind - her belongings, her nearly-finished degrees, her life -_

\-- it’s about the only thing left to her at the moment. The only place willing to overlook her obviously falsified identity, pay her cash, let her hide in plain sight while she figures out how to go on living when everything that ever mattered has been taken from her.

All because she trusted the wrong person.

* * *

Oliver closes his eyes in frustration, but it does nothing to block out the continuous flash of strobe lights, or the pound of music he can feel in his teeth, or the fact that he is back in the U.S. 

In Russia, where there are no reminders of his old life, as wasteful and squandered as it had been, it is easy to exist in a dreaming state, to put his head down and do what’s asked of him, shutting out all his misgivings. It is easy to accept the monster inside him when he is surrounded by other monsters, when the world around him seems to suggest that being a monster is the only way to survive.

But here, even in this seedy Vegas strip club that is so tightly associated with the Bratva that it shouldn’t feel very different from the world he usually inhabits, tiny familiarities prick at his awareness, forcing him awake, forcing him to acknowledge that there’s another way to be. Forcing him to recognize that he is what he is because of the choices he’s made. 

His skin crawls at the debauchery and extreme decadence that surrounds him. The behavior of the men around him strikes him as perverted. Nauseating. Reprehensible. The sight of them, bloated and prosperous, turns his stomach, but what disgusts him most is the inescapable realization that he’s no better than them. 

He is one of them. 

Sure, he might not be panting and petting the women on display, might not take advantage of the pleasures on offer, but doesn’t he do everything else the Bratva asks of him? Doesn’t he maim, kill without question? Doesn’t he look the other way when it comes to the organization’s worst offenses and business dealings?

His hands may technically be clean of human trafficking, but he is still responsible. 

Tomorrow, the cold-blooded business of the Brotherhood will resume; jovial laughs and unfocused smiles will be replaced by shrewd eyes and gleaming teeth; missing ties and unzipped flies will be replaced with sharp handshakes, cutthroat proposals, and the ever-present jockeying for favor and position. Deals will be struck, long-term strategies will be determined, and the lives of thousands of affected individuals will never be considered - except as commodities. 

As a Captain, Oliver is an important cog in the Bratva machine, a fact unchanged whether or not he chooses to partake in the luxuries afforded by his position, and he has no right to feel superior to the men who lust and sweat after these women who are, at least, more or less here by their own choice.

Suppressing a shudder as he endures another round of clammy handshakes, back slaps, and vodka, he clenches his jaw, willing the disgust and disdain to remain hidden from his face.

“Ah, Kapiushon, always so grim,” one of his closer associates teases. “This is party, where is your sense of fun? Here, here, I know what you need. Look at these ladies, each one more beautiful than the last, and our host is most generous, has offered any one you want to go home with you tonight. See? American hospitality is not so bad!”

Obediently, Oliver glaces around the room, but rather than taking in the array of women performing on the stage, his gaze catches on a single lone woman off to the side leaning against a wall, her eyes closed and weariness subduing her delicate features.

Something about her is different.

She’s dressed as any other waitress - not dancer, he notes, though the difference seems almost academic judging by the skimpiness of their uniforms as well as the way they are fondled and mauled as freely as the strippers - but there is a realness to her that makes her stand out. 

It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she is - so, _so_ beautiful. But they’re all beautiful. He studies her, trying solve the mystery she presents so he can dismiss her from his mind. Is it that she’s not strung out, like so many of the others? Is it the way she presses against the wall, as if she might fall over if not for its bracing support? Maybe it’s just that her weariness is as familiar as his own reflection. Whatever it is about her, she draws his complete attention.

Her very existence tugs at something deep inside him, as if she’s the only three-dimensional person in a world of paper cut-outs, or the only person in color in a world of black-and-white. 

As he stares, transfixed - the voices around him have blurred into meaningless syllables, and he can’t be bothered to care if he’s giving offense - he watches as the club’s owner finds his way to her side. 

Oliver doesn’t like the way Adrian Chase approaches her, the wolfish look on his face, the way he slides toward her. He especially hates the way a mask falls over her features when Chase leans into her, crowding her against the wall, his arms forming a cage around her while his hands land familiarly on her body. 

Without conscious thought, Oliver is on the move, his long legs striding purposefully toward her.

* * *

“Danielle, baby, why are you over here hiding the goods?” Adrian licks his lips as his sharp eyes scrape down Felicity’s body, landing in the vicinity of her tiny sequined boyshorts. “You know I don’t pay you to stand here and do nothing.” He reaches out to fondle her breast as he continues, “You know you’re not quite as naturally...gifted...as some of our other girls, so I expect to see a little extra hustle from you. You’re no good to me standing against the wall. Unless,” his other hand sneaks under the waistband of her shorts as he presses his hips meaningfully against her, “you’ve decided to take me up on my offer.”

Felicity unconsciously lifts her chin and uncurls herself against the crowd of his body, forcing him to take a step back before she catches herself. Smiling jaggedly instead of letting one of a hundred possible retorts fly, she says, “And have to deal with the jealous remarks from the other girls? You know I can’t do that.” It takes extra effort to avoid choking on the words, but this is her life now. She’s had to learn how to navigate Adrian’s cutting remarks, his wandering hands, his constant advances, appearing even to encourage them while still never letting him get close enough to act on the intent she can read in his eyes. It’s getting harder and harder, but she is a genius, after all. If only MIT could see her now.

Adrian’s lips form the shape of a smile as his hand slides underneath the material at her hips, rounding her ass and squeezing. “Then you know what you’re missing out on.” She forces herself to hold his gaze for a long moment before he snaps the elastic of her shorts against her skin and gives her breast a parting squeeze. “Go out there and sit on a few laps, give the old men a thrill. Then when you’re ready for the full experience, you know where to find me.” 

He winks, but before he can move away, Felicity hears a throat clear from behind him.

She glances up in surprise, finding herself looking up at towering, tightly wound ball of anger in the shape of large man. His intense blue eyes regard Adrian icily, and she can almost see the heat rising from his straining shoulders. 

Despite the threat written in every line of his body, something about his restraint, the way he is careful to give her space, makes her feel protected from his wrath. Almost as if he’s glaring daggers at Adrian on her _behalf._ Her stomach flops as she takes in his gorgeous features and the way his ticking jaw contrasts with his casually unbuttoned collar, exposing the length of neck below his Adam's apple

Chase turns toward his associate, and Felicity finds herself taking a small step toward the newcomer the moment she’s free. 

“Ah, Kapiushon,” Adrian greets, his smile showing too many teeth. He gestures grandly toward the room, “I hope you’re enjoying the hospitality of my club. Perhaps you would be interested in a private dance?” 

Felicity tunes out the nasal tones of Adrian’s voice as she continues to assess the man he’s addressing. What did he call him? _Kapiushon?_ What kind of name was that? And who is he?

He’s clearly powerful, both physically and figuratively. Unlike the other Bratva in the room, he is young, physically fit... _extremely_ fit judging by the way his dress shirt strains across his shoulders and pecs...with an intensity, like his own gravitational pull. His face and body are flawlessly sculpted, with no excess or imperfection to be seen; just defined cheeks and jaw, crystal blue eyes, and unexpectedly soft lips. She instantly knows she’s never seen a more beautiful man, either in real life or on the cover of any magazine. He exudes strength and power, claims them as inherent traits rather than conferrals of rank. Though she has no doubt he has rank too; the air of command and assuredness presents too much of a challenge in this place for it to be otherwise. But unlike the other men in the room, there is a stillness to him. A pronounced lack of showiness and ambition, which is itself, she supposes, a kind of challenge. Against her will, she finds him very, very appealing. 

Adrian is still speaking in ingratiating tones, but _Kapiushon_ hasn’t said a word. She glances up to read his face and she is shocked to find him staring at her. She looks away quickly, hoping he can’t see the flush rising in her cheeks.

The cadence of Adrian’s voice changes when another member of the Bratva moves into their circle, and when the conversation switches effortlessly to Russian, Felicity suddenly feels as conspicuously unnecessary as training wheels on an airplane.

Unwilling to interrupt them in order to excuse herself, she listens to the guttural flow of words, picking out a few that she’s managed to learn in the seven months she’s been here.

 _Удовольствие…_ “pleasure,” a word so common in this Bratva-owned club that it was one of the first words she’d picked up. 

_Капитан…_ “Captain” - that one was taught, along with a few other key words, to the club workers specifically as part of their “training” for this weekend. She’s not exactly surprised to discover that it is addressed to the insanely-hot man, but she can’t deny that the realization makes her uneasy. One doesn’t reach the rank of Bratva Captain by helping little old Russian ladies cross the street.

 _American._ That one is also directed at Kapiushon, and dripping with contempt. American? Her eyes snap to his at that, and she finds he’s again watching her intently, as if specifically waiting for her reaction.

A shiver runs down her body and involuntarily she licks her lips, and his eyes follow the motion. 

Something about way he’s looking at her reminds her how very little clothing she’s actually wearing. She’s used to being leered at, used to lecherous eyes that look at her and see a pretty, but ultimately interchangeable doll. She’s almost come to view her revealing outfit as a kind of armor, the display of skin serving as a deflection from being seen as anything but a fantasy. 

But while his scorching gaze crackles with obvious appreciation for her body, it is also intimate in a way that sets her heart racing _._ She ducks her head to hide the blush that’s creeping down her neck. A few seconds later, her eyes flit back to his again only to find him watching her with a barely-there smirk on his face, as if he can read all her thoughts, and dammit how is that so hot? She feels liquid pooling between her legs, and she’s half embarrassed, because it’s not like her to want to drop her panties at the first somewhat-decent seeming guy she comes across.

Besides, she has no real reason to believe he _is_ a somewhat decent guy. Sexy or not, he is undeniably a member of the Russian mafia. A criminal. Categorically, a bad person. While Felicity, though technically on the run from the FBI, is _not_. 

Someone like her should not be getting involved with someone like him. And she needs to remember that. 

When the conversation pauses, she takes her opportunity. “I think my break’s over,” she says quietly, meeting Chase’s eyes and waiting for his nod. “Later, boys,” she says lightly, glancing briefly at each man to include them in her farewell, deliberately avoiding _his_ eyes. As she walks away, she pretends she didn’t see the way he sought her gaze, didn’t see the flicker of disappointment when she refused to meet it, but she can feel him watching her go, his desire lingering like a burn long after she rounds the corner.

Despite her hasty departure, she doesn’t manage to escape him the rest of the night. 

While she is felt up by drunk Bratva pigs, flirting and teasing and playing her usual role, he is never far away. Over and over again she looks up only to lock eyes with him, her heart stilling as everything fades away for a moment, until everything speeds up again, faster than before, when she forces her attention back on her work. 

He’s both disorienting and at the same time steadying, his eyes intense and demanding, but not too much. There’s a humanity behind his gaze, a searching quality, like she's a puzzle he's trying desperately to solve. Or maybe she's just projecting, because against all reason, she wants to solve him, too. 

By the time an hour has passed she can barely breathe; the press of bodies, the noise and lights and smell of sweat and alcohol are dragging her under and suffocating her, and he is there, the cause and the cure for her confusion. He’s watching her fall apart. And waiting to catch her, she thinks. 

When she spies Adrian moving toward her, she tries to find a way to escape without seeming to, but he corners her. “Danielle,” he croons with false concern, ‘I see you out there and you don’t look so good, baby.” His hands grasp her hips, pulling her close so he can whisper in her ear. “I don’t think you’re giving me your best.” His fingers slide deliberately under her shorts. “And after everything I do for you, don’t I deserve your best?”

Felicity closes her eyes, exhausted. Kapiushon’s perceptive eyes have left her unbalanced, and unable to ward off Adrian’s advances with her usual skill. She’s tired of having to try. 

She feels reckless and out of control, but before she can walk out or scream or slap Adrian across the face, _he_ is there. 

“Chase,” he growls, and there’s no simply no other word to describe the sound that rips form his throat.

Annoyance flashes over Adrian’s face before it’s replaced by the barest mask of politeness. “Kapiushon,” he grits, “I’m surprised you’re still here. I would have thought a man like you would have already left with several of my girls.” His teeth glint in the shimmering light. 

Kapiushon ignores his insinuation, cutting right to the point. “Left with your girls, because you promised me a night with any of the women in your club?” he asks in a perfect American accent. It’s the first time she’s heard him speak in English, and the the deep melody stirs low in her belly. 

“Yes,” Chase smirks his showman’s smirk, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes, grabbing his colleague by the shoulder and turning him away from Felicity, gesturing expansively toward the show floor. “As you see we have only the most beautiful women. You can hardly go wrong.”

“No,” Kapiushon declares, the word falling heavy and final from his lips. He turns toward Felicity and his gaze locks with hers; commanding, electric, and she’s powerless to look away. “I want her.”

The words drag up her spine, eliciting prickles of alarm and anticipation. 

In contrast to her current state of confusion, he is utterly calm and controlled, in a way that immediately makes her want to place her trust in him. It batters at the remnants of the wall she’d thrown up the second she’d laid eyes on him, and in that moment she knows her decision is already made _._

She’s never done anything like this before; she may work at a strip club (a mafia-run one, at that), but she’s still just a waitress; and she may have compromised many of her standards for the sake of maintaining her fugitive status, but there are some lines she’d never crossed, she’d been adamant that she would _never_ cross...until now.

Because she wants this. She wants this so much that when she lifts her chin to meet the question in his eyes, there is only one answer.

_Yes._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I might have underestimated how long editing this thing was going to take me. ( _Again._ ) Also, you might have noticed that total chapters went up to 4. This is because the general consensus in the comments was that _I am clearly crazy for saying there could ever be such a thing as too much smut_ , and of course y'all are totally right. But in order to accommodate all the sex, I had to break the middle chapter into two, so here you go! 
> 
> (Shout out to my good buddies on the Olicity Discord server who rallied around and helped me with this decision ;) Love you all 😘)

_ There's something burning up inside  
I reach out for you and our hearts collide _

They are both silent as he drives, two pairs of eyes focused on the stretch of road unfurling before them, carrying them inexorably toward the center of the city.

He can do this. He can lock his desire for her behind the wall that separates his actions from his emotions. As easy as breaking the neck of a petty criminal who got on the wrong side of the Brotherhood, or meticulously imagining Thea’s smile every night before sleep so that the memory of her face isn’t another casualty of what he’s become, he can take her away from the desolation of that horrible club without giving in to the overwhelming temptation of her lips, her eyes, her body.

He knows he can, but while he drives in silence he’s powerless to stop the mental images that assault him: on his knees before her, worshipping her with his lips and tongue, hands busy unwrapping her body, burying himself in her as deeply as possible, seeking the secret to her remarkable radiance, maybe even hoping to claim some of that vitality for his own. He will happily get on his knees and beg, if that’s what it takes. 

Not that he would ever take more than she’s offering; he is too aware that his presence is like a dark void, and the last thing he wants is to dim her light. Yet something about her seems to offer safety, like a beacon only for him, water for a man dying of thirst.

The fantasy is brief, but intense, and his body is at full attention by the time they reach the hotel, an elegant and understated high-rise looking down on the garish, glaring lights of Vegas’s counterfeit prosperity. 

The sight serves as a harsh reality check. Vegas isn’t a city where dreams come true; at best it is a city of consolation for dreams dashed and deferred. He can’t afford to let himself forget that. 

He's no longer the foolish boy who allowed himself to be dazzled by bright lights, and as much as  _ her  _ presence makes him want to believe that he could have something more, just this chance to be near her will have to be enough. 

* * *

The door shuts softly behind her, and Felicity does a cursory sweep of the luxurious suite. Nothing but the best for a captain in the Bratva, of course. Even an American one.

Almost casually, he says, “I’m Oliver, by the way. And I assume Danielle isn’t your real name, so...what should I call you?” 

His eyes are clear and earnest, and they compel the truth from her before she has a chance to stop herself. “Felicity.” Her stomach drops as she hears herself, because as much as she feels she can trust him, she’s already planning to give him her body. She can't afford to give him anything more.

Her worries vanish in the next instant as his playful tone makes it clear he thinks she’s given him another false name. “Felicity,” he murmurs, an appreciative smile on his face, “happiness. I can see that.”

But when he looks into her face, she can see that his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She presses her lips together so she won’t contradict his assumption, pretending it’s not disappointment she reads on his face. 

She wanders further into the suite and her attention is drawn to the bedroom door, standing open like an invitation, and she unknowingly gravitates toward it, lingering in the doorway when she gets there and gazing upon the large bed. Her stomach tightens at the sight of the unruffled expanse of soft white duvet, framed by mountains of pillows. The pristine surface begging to be disturbed. 

Soft noises from behind her pull her attention back to her brooding companion; she recognizes the unmistakable sounds of a belt unbuckling, a zipper being drawn, the sounds of fabric sliding against fabric. 

Her heart spikes at the sound, her mouth goes dry and her fingers tighten on the doorframe. Any second his hands will land on her hips, or her shoulders, lifting away the coat that is by far the most concealing item of clothing on her body. 

She should turn toward him, raise her voice, make it clear that despite who she works for, she’s not for sale, not a reward to be given away. She could still change her mind. She feels safe enough with him to know that if she said no, even now, he would respect her decision. 

At the very least she should argue with him, make him work for it. But instead she stands frozen, waiting for him to make the first move, because despite her principles, and her righteous anger at the idea of having been given to this man like a prize, she  _ wants  _ this.

The moment stretches, her one chance to back out becoming two, three. And her stomach twists in disappointment as the unspoken invitation of her silence goes unanswered.

This isn’t like her, she doesn’t do things like this. She should be glad he hasn’t touched her, she should be coming up with an excuse to leave. But those are the thoughts of logical Felicity, and logical Felicity isn’t in control right now. 

She is too aware of him, standing behind her so human and so close. She is too attuned to the promise that exists between the hardness of his body and the softness of his lips and the gentle, expressive intelligence in his eyes. 

She aches to know him in every way she can know a person, aches to be known by him the same way. But since that’s impossible, she will take the next best thing. She needs it, needs him to fill her, to feel her, to fuck her with that intoxicatingly masculine combination of strength and gentleness that had stalked her all night, penetrating all her defenses. 

This itching hunger to be fucked hardly ever happens to her, and she’s unprepared for the desperation that pounds through her. Despite her sexual experience, despite the fact that she works in a sexually-charged environment every night, the flashing lights and pumping music designed to mimic and inspire primitive biological impulses, she is almost entirely unfamiliar with the pulsing desire that rushes through her veins.

She needs him.  _ What is he waiting for? _

She spins around to ask, but the words dry up at the sight of him, suit pants undone and hanging loose and low on his hips, jacket discarded, his graceful fingers paused halfway down the buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. He is the picture of aloof masculinity, except for his eyes, which betray a surprising depth of emotion that is mirrored in the uncertain bob of his Adam’s apple and the slight parting of his soft lips.  _ He is unfair.  _

“You can take the bed,” he says quietly after a small eternity, his tone light but his eyes burdened, searchingly attuned to every microexpression on her face. 

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to penetrate the fog of lust. “Won’t you be joining me?” His words had been unexpected, throwing her even more off balance, though somehow her response comes off sounding flirty and arch. 

Something feral flashes in his eyes, barely there before they widen with surprise; the predatory look giving way to a softness that is almost shy, and disarmingly adorable - all earnest eyes and raised brows, but still very,  _ very _ sexy. “I -” he cuts himself off in confusion, eyes squinting slightly, “I didn’t bring you here to have sex with you.” 

He says the words lightly, but something raw lingers in his expression, and he takes a step closer to her, hands resuming their unconscious unbuttoning, so that as he moves into her space, the edges of his shirt fall apart to reveal sculpted abs and scarred and tattooed skin that pulls her attention immediately. 

Without intent, Felicity’s fingers are drawn to his exposed skin, and Oliver’s sharp gasp causes her to realize what she’s done. Her eyes snap to his even as her fingers spread over the tensed abdominal muscles, but she doesn’t move away. 

His hands close around her wrists, large and warm and holding her in place, as his dark gaze bores into hers, pinning her just as effectively. 

She can feel the rapid pulse beating in her neck as the moment stretches, balanced on the edge of a pin. 

Her voice shakes even as she challenges, “Are you sure you sure you didn’t bring me here for sex?” Pushing him, because she can’t afford to be wrong about him. “Isn’t that what women are for to you mafia-types?” She shrugs her coat down her shoulders, deliberately exposing expanses of bare, goosebumped skin. She slowly withdraws one hand from his chest, pulling his own toward her chest so that he cups one barely-covered breast in his large hand. “Aren’t we just bodies, flesh to be used for your pleasure?”

He shakes his head in slow, emphatic denial, but his thumb brushes over her clothed nipple.

She pushes further into his hand, and obediently he begins to caress and squeeze her, drawing a low moan from her lips. “Then why, Oliver?” she breathes. “Why did you bring me here?”

His breathing is heavy and labored, gaze fixed on her face, refusing to dip down to where he’s touching her, refusing also to acknowledge the hand she’s sliding up his chest, half exploring, half intent upon shoving his shirt off his shoulder. His silent eyes beg her to comprehend some deeper message that he can’t seem to put into words, but the only thing she understands for sure is that she’s safe with him. 

So she continues to push.

“Didn’t you bring me here to fuck me, Oliver?”

Abruptly, the feral look is back, and she knows he’s reaching his limit. His fingers tighten on her breast, thumb roughly grazing her peaked nipple as his other hand lands on her waist, pulling her body against him. She can feel his erection digging into her belly, long and thick and hot, and her heart races as she looks into his tense face. But his eyes are serious and he takes a deep breath, exercising impressive control he replies with utter sincerity, “I brought you here because you don’t belong in that place. Adrian Chase and the other members of the Bratva, they don’t deserve to touch you. They shouldn’t treat any women the way they do, but especially not you. Never you.” 

Her heart flops over at the passion in his expression. It unbalances her, offering something more than the sexual encounter she’s consciously limiting herself to. Swallowing down the unwanted emotions, she deliberately runs her hand along the bulge of his erection, making him gasp. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there’s nothing there but heat and barely-held restraint. 

He presses into her hand, taking a shuddery breath. “What do  _ you  _ want, Felicity?” His eyes zero in on her lips, parted and panting, and the hand that’s not cupping her breast pushes the heavy coat over her shoulders until it falls to the floor. She stands before him in nothing but 4-inch heels, tiny boy shorts, and a string halter top. He licks his lips, nearly-black eyes locking on hers as he rasps, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Felicity finds herself suddenly speechless, her impulsive boldness melting away under the heat of his gaze, the sheer size of him. He looms, masculine and muscular but somehow never threatening, and all she can do is meet his eyes and nod silently, assuring him that _ yes,  _ this is what she wants. For once, she can lower her guard and just enjoy herself, give in to the lust he awakens in her, confident that he’ll take care of her; that he  _ wants  _ to take care of her.

“Say it,” he says lowly, unexpectedly. “I need you to say it.”

Gone is the hesitation, and in its place is the same intense, unwavering command she’d recognized in the club. Her stomach swoops and her skin prickles with heat, because his take-charge attitude really does it for her. “Oliver,” she whispers, the word a plea, though she isn’t sure what she’s asking for.

“Felicity,” he replies, and the sound of her name coming from his lips makes her heart flutter with yearning. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

* * *

  
  
The second her eyes had snapped to his, the air in the room had shifted. Every detail that didn’t have to do with  _ her  _ faded to the background. He feels every heartbeat in his chest like a timer, inevitably counting down to...to what?

_ “Felicity. Tell me what you want me to do.” _

He watches her internal struggle, the war between  _ should  _ and  _ want  _ evidenced in the way she bites her lip - so sensual, those lush, beautiful lips that he aches to see wrapped around his dick. 

She takes a breath and he nods encouragingly, his cock tightening as the hesitation falls away from her expression, replaced with a sexy confidence. It’s as if he’s seeing her complete for the first time, and it turns him on more than expected. She is like a lightbulb he hadn’t realized had been dimmed, bright and vibrant and full of life, and he wants all of her. “I want you to fuck me, Oliver,” she says clearly, her steady gaze never flickering.

The permission on her lips and in her eyes is like the release of a spring, and Oliver feels a looseness overtake his body that is distinctly different from the sense of urgency that had kept him on edge until now. Because now they have  _ time. _ And he intends to make full use of it. “Good,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting with a predatory smile. “Go stand next to the bed,” he directs.

Felicity flashes him a surprised look, but she complies wordlessly, 

Slowly, Oliver advances toward her, shedding his shirt and then his pants and boxers along the way, his excitement evident in the proud erection that bobs and sways as he moves. She watches as he circles around her, admiring the way her tiny shorts complement her firm, round ass.

He pauses behind her, itching with the need to touch, so he does, cupping one large hand around each perfect globe. “So sexy,” he says roughly, fitting his bare shaft between her cheeks. “Can’t wait to fuck you like this,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and teasing himself against her ass. 

“Oliver,” Felicity pants, one hand reaching up behind her to encircle his neck. 

“God, Felicity,” he chokes into her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist and trying not to give into the urge to thrust mindlessly against her. “I want you.”

“I want you too, god,” she nods vigorously, pressing back against him, and Oliver groans. He allows himself one last thrust before pulling his hips away and whispering in her ear, “Not yet, Felicity. Later, I promise.”

He feels the shudder go through her before he releases her and circles around to drop to his knees in front of her. He can smell her arousal, the sharp scent going straight to his dick and replacing all conscious thought with the urgent  _ need  _ to taste her.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulls her body into his face, placing hungry kisses on the exposed skin below her belly button. 

“Oliver…” she says shakily, wobbling a little on her feet as he nibbles and sucks his way down, down, but he holds her firm, bearing half her weight to keep her in place as her legs start to give out.

“Shhh, Felicity. Let me,” he mumbles, his lips never leaving her skin as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, sliding them over her ass until they fall at her feet and then finally,  _ finally  _ he can bury his face between her legs.

He inhales deeply, fingers spanning her firm cheeks and holding her in place, before he encourages her to start moving back. When her legs hit the bed, and he helps her lie back, spreading her thighs open and positioning himself between them, then hauling her legs over his shoulders so her stiletto-clad feet dangle down his back.

Her fingers find their way into his hair while he pauses to appreciate the sight of her, wet and open and waiting for him. She’s gorgeous. “So pretty,” he murmurs, placing a single kiss on her inner thigh before trailing his lips up toward her center, his stubble rasping the sensitive skin along the way. 

She squirms underneath him as he licks firmly up her slit, the strong muscle dipping into her channel to stroke and probe her opening, one hand on her thigh holding her open, the other reaching up to free one breast from her halter top so he can roll and tease the sensitive nipple.

Humming with satisfaction, he fucks her slowly with his tongue, building her up, his thumb brushing lightly over her throbbing clit until she’s panting and groaning with need.

Her legs scrabble against his back, seeking leverage, seeking  _ more. _ “Is this how you treat all your women, Oliver?” she pants, a note of teasing in her voice.

He lifts his head and waits until she looks at him. “What other women?” he asks, their gazes catching and holding as the playful words land with unexpected weight. 

The gravity lingers for a beat, until Felicity smirks and thrusts her hips, deliberately shaking off the moment, leaving nothing but a playful heat crackling in her eyes. “You’re just taking longer than I thought you would.”

He quirks an eyebrow, letting the heaviness pass as easily as it appeared, picking up on the challenge in her tone. “Is that a complaint?” He holds her gaze as a cocky smirk pulls at his lips, and then he drags his thumb in a slow and purposeful circle around her engorged clit. So close, but so far from where she needs him.. 

She whimpers in response, replying, “Not at all,” but the frantic squirming under his fingers tells a different story. 

“Hmm,” Oliver hums, lowering his mouth to the throbbing bundle, only to avoid giving her what she wants again, circling and teasing her sex with his firm tongue. “And here I thought I was being a gentleman.” At last, he drags the flat of his tongue rough and hard against her pulsing clit, filling her with two fingers at the same time, and she gasps, thrusting desperately against his face. “But you don’t want a gentleman, do you, Felicity?” 

Her only response is a long moan as he dives in, his mouth working her over, alternating stroking and sucking her clit as he pumps her, penetrating her with deep, rhythmic thrusts that drag over her g-spot

He gets lost in the heady pleasure of her taste, of the sounds she’s making, and he mindlessly reaches down with a greedy hand to stroke himself, to take the edge off. The ecstasy of it pushes him into a faster rhythm, his fingers and tongue fucking her in time to his frantically pumping wrist as he gives in to the white rush of euphoria. The low sounds escaping her throat and the rock of her hips against his face amplify his pleasure, his dick and heart pounding in unison with her gasping breath.

“Oh god, Oliver! More! I need more!”

He’s never heard anything as incredibly sexy as the sound of his name moaned from her lips, and his cock hardens impossibly more with the power he feels at making her feel so good, bringing her to this point. 

Responding to the desperate demands of her hips, he releases his dick to cup her ass, lifting her up, changing the angle and giving her better leverage as she grips his hair and moves his head where she needs him. He's more than happy to meet her desperate thrusts, his fingers and mouth working furiously to give her the push she needs and then she’s throwing her head back, her knees clamping around his head as she flutters around his fingers and pulses under his tongue. He works her through it, moaning along as he coaxes as much pleasure out of her as possible, and it’s almost enough to trigger his own orgasm.

When she finally stops writhing, he lays her gently back on the bed, a low hum of contentment escaping her lips. Her body is relaxed and languid, bearing no trace of the weariness that had defined her when he first laid eyes on her. 

He closes his eyes against the wave of intense emotion that washes over him as he thinks about the part he played in bringing her this utter release. She reaches out blindly for his hand and he gives it, letting her pull him down next to her on the bed, and her fingers play idly with his as she breathes quietly for several minutes. 

He’s pulled abruptly back to the present when her free hand lands on his stomach, her soft fingers spread wide and probing over the firm muscles of his abdomen. They forge a slow and steady path down his body, toward the cock that still stands swollen and ready.

He opens his eyes to find her watching him with a playful expression on her face. Her hand continues its journey down, down, and he feels himself grow harder with anticipation as her fingers get closer. 

He watches in fascination as her tongue protrudes from her gorgeous lips, her eyes dropping to focus on his body. She lets out a hum of satisfaction.

He runs his hand over his mouth, struggling to pull his eyes away from the sight of her fingers drawing down his body. Taking a shuddery breath, he attempts a smirk. “See something you like, Felicity?”

She quirks her eyebrow at him, eyes glinting with mischief as she responds, “Well that depends.” At the last possible second, her hand diverts from its course, skirting around his erection to skate over the sensitive skin of his stomach. 

Oliver draws in a harsh breath. “Depends on what?” he pants, his eyes glued to the play of her fingers on his body.

“On whether you’re too much of a gentleman to bend me over and fuck me like you promised,” she replies, her fingers finally, finally closing over his thick length.

He sucks in a deep breath at the exquisite grip, fighting the urge to thrust up into her hand and find the relief he desperately needs, but he gets himself under control, gathers his stamina, the promise of prolonged pleasure strengthening his resolve. 

A teasing smile pulls at his lips as he shakes his head slowly, then he quickly rotates his body and throws a leg over her hips, pushing her onto her back and landing on top of her, his dick hot and thick trapped between them. “Oh, Felicity,” he whispers. “I’m just getting started.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a huge debt to [stephswims](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephswims/pseuds/stephswims) and [lucyyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyyh/pseuds/lucyyh), not only for their friendship, but for putting up with me and encouraging me as I was in self-imposed editing hell for the past 6 weeks or so. And especial thanks to Steph, who is a fucking fabulous beta!! And to both of you, for all the other stuff. 💗 I am so fortunate in the friend department.

_With hearts on fire I reach out to you tonight_

Oliver’s arms rest on either side of Felicity’s head, his firm abdomen pressing against her soft belly as she looks up at him, her eyes shifting between his, waiting for him to make his move.

His gaze sweeps over her face, taking in her arched brows, her pert, lightly freckled nose, and a set of sensual, slightly parted lips. Her features are gorgeous, but it’s her eyes, sparking with spirit, that tug at something deep inside him.

In Russia, there are many women who seek him as a bedmate, but more often than not he chooses the comfort of his own hand over the luxury of a warm, welcoming body. No matter how good the sex is in the moment, in the end he is always left feeling emptier than when he started. His fist, at least, comes with no strings, no obligations, no guilt. 

But instinctively he knows that with _her_ it’s different. Even if it’s just for tonight, this feels real. _She_ feels real. 

The way she looks at him, it makes him feel real too. For the first time in years, he feels alive. He can feel his heart pumping in his chest, the rush of blood enervating every inch of his skin with electric arousal. His dick is heavy and potent between his legs, compelling him to fuck, to slake his lust, but it’s a warm, buzzing urge that feels endless, priming him for prolonged play. Unconsciously, he rocks against her, easing the ache of his dick as his head drops down, drawn to her mouth. 

It would be easy to kiss her in this haze of physical gratification, easy to let himself be lulled by the press and join of their bodies, to intertwine their fingers and let their tongues explore, completing the magnetic connection that draws him toward her. 

It would be so easy, but that isn’t what this is. It can’t be. Burying the confusing emotions away, he instead presses a kiss to her jaw, then drags his lips down the column of her neck. 

“Oliver,” Felicity whimpers, the whine in her voice pulling him out of his reflection. “Please.”

And he wants nothing more than to give her whatever she wants, everything she wants. Every instinct he’s denied surging in his veins for the first time in years as he finally gives himself permission to touch. To enjoy. 

His hand slips down to grasp himself, running his palm down and then up his length, squeezing the sensitive engorged head. He finds her watching him, eyes fixed on his movements, the way he pushes his hips forward so his dick slides through his grip. 

“You like this?” 

She nods. 

“You like watching me? Why?” 

Ignoring his question, she asks, “How does it feel?” 

Like I’m ready to pound you all night, he thinks, climbing up her body further, bringing his straining member close to her face. “Good,” he grunts instead. “Really good.” 

“Good,” she repeats. She watches him stroke himself, then brings her hands to wrap around his, squeezing until he releases his grip, letting her take him. 

His cock looks unbelievably large in her small hands, the sight urging him to thrust harder as she begins to pump him. He nearly loses it at the sight of his glossy purple head pushing up through her fist. “Felicity…” he strains. 

“Yeah,” she answers, but she’s distracted, focused on her hands squeezing his dick, thumbs rounding over his aching glans. 

As if in slow motion, he watches her head dip down to take him into her mouth, her lips closing over his tip, tongue running around the sensitive ridge.

His heart feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest when she keeps going down, down, to take his entire length in her mouth, her throat opening and closing around him as she massages his tip with rhythmic swallows. He throws his head back, lost in the sensation, barely stopping himself from driving mindlessly into her face. 

After that he loses all conscious thought, all sense of time, as he surrenders to the heart-stopping ecstasy of her lips and tongue. Instinct forces his eyes open just before he gets too close to the edge and he pulls back, stilling her head, unsurprised to find that his fingers are buried in her hair, his hips rocking gently as he fucks into her mouth. She pulls off him with a pop, questioning eyes meeting his. 

“Not like this,” he manages to gasp, “I don’t want to…” Her brows furrow, and he rushes to reassure her, struggling to regain his composure, the control that fled when he let her take over. “Please.” 

The crease between her eyes smooths out, replaced by a flash of something - some understanding, some tenderness - that he doesn’t examine, that he isn’t even sure was real because after a second there’s just a playful smirk. 

Without preamble he reaches back to test her opening, finding her soaked and dripping. He grins at her, eyebrow raised, and she shrugs back until his thumb glides over her slippery clit, plump and needy, and the smug expression falls off her face as she gasps. 

“You are remarkable,” he murmurs, and she hums in response as his fingers begin to work her over. In almost no time she’s gasping and writhing against him, riding the same wave of lust that has him furiously stroking his dick. 

“Oliver,” she begs, and it’s all the invitation he needs. 

“Get on your knees,” he commands, lifting himself off of her to grab a condom from the pile he’d tossed onto the nightstand.

When she rolls over and gets on her hands and knees, she looks over her shoulder, her lush, gorgeous ass on tantalizing display. 

This is going to be fantastic.

* * *

Felicity watches as he gracefully rolls off the bed, naked and agile and completely unselfconscious. Not that he has anything to be self conscious about. This is the first chance she’s really had to take him in, and if she thought he looked good in a suit, it’s nothing compared to how good he looks out of one. 

He’s not what she expected. Of all the men of the Bratva she’s encountered in the past seven months, he stands apart. It’s not just his relative youth or strikingly handsome physique...though those features are outstanding, she thinks as her eyes wander down the natural dips and lines of his muscles to linger on the prominent erection currently protruding from his body, stiff and proud and oh so mouthwatering. Yep. _Outstanding._

But while his beautiful face and potent masculinity are what first called to her, it was the way his eyes sought and held hers with a surprising depth and honesty that attracted her most - and allowed her to trust him.

Contrary to all her prior experiences with powerful men, he was content to give her control. And not only that - he clearly _got off on it._ The way he pleasured her with his whole body, with all his senses, ate her out voraciously like he couldn’t get enough of her...she’d never felt like that before. 

She’d been catcalled and pawed and fondled and ground on, she’d had sex and fucked and even made love, but never had she ever felt so voluptuous and feminine as when his large hands parted her thighs and encircled her waist, holding her gently as his lips explored her body. He made her feel like a goddess without even having been inside her. 

_Yet,_ she thinks as she bends over, naked and willingly displaying herself in the most vulnerable position imaginable, because his hot gaze doesn’t make her feel exposed - it makes her feel powerful. 

She shivers, thinking of what’s to come.

As if deliberately teasing her, Oliver strokes himself once before rolling the condom on in a graceful, sensual caress, his eyes closing with pleasure as his fist slides down his cock. She whimpers involuntarily at the sight, and he looks up, pinning her with simmering intent.

Holding her gaze, he slowly climbs onto the bed, positioning himself behind her with gentle hands on her hips. His touch is electric, sending prickles of sensation throughout her body as he wraps his arms around her waist. 

One hand slides up between her breasts, pulling her body flush against his firm chest and lowering his lips to her ear. “Hi.” 

His warm breath sends a shiver of anticipation through her body. “Hi,” she replies, the word morphing into a moan as he presses his wrapped cock against the seam of her ass. “Yes,” she gasps.

His fingers find the closure at her back of her string halter top and he slowly peels it away, rough fingers dragging along her skin as he unwraps the straps that bind her body. He lets the material fall away as he palms her bare breasts.

His strong arms wrap around her firmly, yet so gently, and she’s never felt so completely possessed by anyone before. Reveling in the sensation, she arches into his hands while pressing her ass against his long cock, and they both groan. 

“Oliver, please,” she begs as he pinches and and roll her nipples, eliciting a sharp sensation that zaps straight to her core. She imagines his dick at full mast probing her ass as he thrusts leisurely against her squirming body, prompting her internal muscles to rhythmically clamp down on nothing but an aching emptiness.

Gathering her hair in his hand, Oliver seems to sense her need. “Not yet, Felicity,” he says in a sexy, velvety rumble that she can feel along her skin as his lips explore her neck. He gently bends her over, hands sliding up her arms to position her hands on the headboard. “Like this.” 

With that, he begins to play with her again, one hand gripping her hip while the other grasps his cock, manually dragging it along her slit and probing at her entrance. She's already so ready for him, past ready, and he slips easily against her, the head of his cock rubbing deliciously against her swollen clit with every rapid thrust. 

Now that she’s tasted him, she’s almost delirious with the need to take him inside her. Just the thought of him in her mouth, silky skin over steel pulsing against her tongue, the slightly salty tang of him, so human, so masculine, makes her throb with need. There was something so fundamentally satisfying about having him in her mouth; about the way he entrusted her with his pleasure, placing the embodiment of his virility - an exquisite combination of both his strength and his vulnerability - entirely at her mercy.

She readjusts the grip of her sweaty hands on the headboard, heart thumping and mind spinning with an endless parade of sensations and emotions. He’s hot and real and everywhere, his firm muscled belly bumping against her hypersensitive ass, his deep carnal grunts vibrating in her chest, communicating just how much he’s enjoying himself.

His desire for her is tangible and essential, speaking directly to her fundamental femininity, making her feel lithe and sexy, but also - she realizes with a jolt, thinking of his heated eyes piercing right through her, hungering for _her_ \- beautiful. 

And she wants more than anything to make him feel beautiful too.

“Oliver, please,” she says, reaching between her legs to position him at her opening, showing him what she needs. “I need you inside me.”

Oliver releases a long groan, though whether it’s at her words or at the grip of her fingers wrapped around his shaft, she doesn’t know. 

What she does know is that he finally, _finally_ gives in to the ratcheting tension that’s been building between them all night. Without a word, he grips her hips and begins to push into her. 

“Oh my god, yes!” she groans as he invades her slowly, relentlessly. Satisfying a primal craving to be filled. 

He hisses as he pulls out in a long stroke to make sure he’s fully coated and slick, and then he starts to thrust into her, warm hands dropping to caress along the outsides of her thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Felicity breathes, closing her eyes and zeroing in on where they’re connected, savoring the delicious fullness. 

“You like that, Felicity?” he asks, the roughness of his voice letting her know that he’s as affected as she is. 

“God yes,” she pants, bracing herself against the headboard as he buries himself inside her. He penetrates her with deliberate strokes that she can feel deep inside her, his head and shaft massaging her sensitive opening with every thrust. 

Her heart starts to pound as her body reacts to the luxurious invasion, her body flooding with a tide of heat that laps against her breasts and thighs and toes. He steadily works her up with admirable control, and she is pliant and responsive, surrendering to his touch.

This. This is what sex should feel like, a rising pleasure humming under her skin, spiked with sharp twinges of ecstasy that catch her breath as his strong, muscled body strains over and against her.

She feels like she’s flying, every nerve ending alive as he fucks into her, and it’s perfect. Almost perfect. Because though she can tell from his panting breath, soft grunts, and the sheer thickness of him that he’s enjoying himself, something tells her that he’s holding back. 

But she doesn’t want him to hold back. 

She knows he’s a passionate man, capable of violence and anger and terrible things. The powerful slam of his hips against her body serves as an unnecessary reminder of his strength, just as the horrific scarring on his body proves that his capacity for brutality is not theoretical, but all too real.

And yet the gentle way he holds her, the memory of his expressive eyes, the undeniable satisfaction he’d taken in pleasuring her, tells her a truth that she knows he would never let slip past his lips. 

That in his heart, Oliver is a good man. A man whose passion had been manipulated and corrupted, used against him, so that the only release he now knows is bloodshed and pain.

A man who craves, who deserves, a different kind of release, a softer release.

And in that moment, more than anything, she needs to be the one to give it to him. 

“Oliver, talk to me, tell me what you want.”

“Felicity,” he manages between breaths, “I don’t want anything but you. I want to make it good for you.”

Even though she can’t see him, she imagines his eyes squeezed shut, the strong, stoic, violent Kapiushon warring with him, with Oliver. His soft blue eyes squeezed shut against that final surrender. She doesn’t know quite what she’s asking for, only knowing that he needs to release something more than the inevitable ropes of hot semen, and she wants to give it to him.

“It is good, so good,” she tells him between moans. “You feel perfect.”

“Yeah?” he grunts, and her heart clenches at the raw sincerity threaded through his arousal, his earnest desire to please her.

“Don’t hold back, Oliver. Please don’t hold back. I want you to give it to me. Give me everything you have,” she pleads, fighting against the tide of her own cresting pleasure to focus on him rather than surrendering to the mindless, pounding bliss. But she’s running out of time, so she puts her back into it, clenching her inner muscles and swiveling her hips at the end of every thrust.

“Come on, Oliver,” she begs him, reaching back to lace her fingers through his. “Let go.” 

“I can’t,” he says, his voice low and thready as his fingers flex against hers, his hips snapping against her ass. 

“You can,” she encourages. Demands. She reaches her hand back, stroking his thigh, cupping his balls, gripping the base of his shaft. His long drawn out groan is music to her ears. “Yes,” she encourages. “Come on, Oliver.”

His lips go to her temple, pressing kisses against her hair between gasping pants, and she can tell he’s getting close, can feel his body go rigid. “Felicity, please. I need you to come.”

“I’m there, I’m so close, I’m almost there. I just need you to let go.”

“You’re sure? Felicity, you’re sure? I’m not gonna….”

“Just fuck me Oliver!”

And with that, the remainder of his restraint snaps.

His fingers dig into her hips as he drives into her, an unintelligible string of vowels ripping from his throat, and she lets go too, riding the surging pleasure toward the fast-approaching precipice until - finally - she’s there, she’s falling, shuddering and squeezing around him just as he starts to lose his rhythm, pumping wildly into her until he buries himself inside her with a final thrust, a long moan falling from his lips as he spills into the condom.

When the white rush of euphoria recedes, the silence is sudden and loud, ringing with the echoes of their recent shouts. He’s still pulsing inside her as he lowers his forehead to her shoulder and then buries his nose in her hair, letting the moment linger as they catch their breath. 

She drops her head onto the pillow, heart thudding, and not just because of the physical exertion. She’s hyper aware of every place they’re touching, his hands on her hips, fingers tracing absent shapes over her skin, his cock still settled deeply inside her, and the connection feels warm and...right. 

What is even happening?

It’s a crazy thought, a thrilling thought that half makes her want to run, and half makes her want to beg him to stay. Before she can ruin the moment by acting on either impulse, he bends over to place a kiss on her back, and pulls out of her with an audible sigh.

* * *

In a daze, Oliver slips away to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

His body moves on autopilot, limbs buzzing and loose with the euphoria of sexual release. And it was great sex. Unquestionably the best sex he could ever remember having. 

But his heart is buzzing with something more. 

He can’t remember the last time he’d let himself completely let go like that, body and mind and emotions working together toward a single goal, effortlessly. 

For so long, the possibility of releasing the monster inside him has forced him to keep an iron grip on his emotions. But she asked him to let go and to his great surprise, he did so without a second thought. 

Because somehow, she’d recognized something else buried and hidden behind his walls; not a monster, but something soft and forgotten. And her belief in him is what allowed him to let it out.

She’d asked him for everything and he’d given it, not realizing until now just exactly what it was he’d been giving: trust.

The realization is startling, disorienting, and vaguely alarming, but he can’t bring himself to analyze it. Not when he returns to the room and sees her lying boneless and spent on the mattress, gloriously naked with her golden hair spread out and framing her beautiful face.

The sight of her awakens a different kind of need, no less compelling than the fire in his veins he’d only momentarily quelled. His body feels light and alive, so relaxed, but the sight of her sprawled there makes him yearn for more. He wants this every night. Unlike all the other times he’s come back to a room, he doesn’t want to kick her out. He wants to keep her. He wants her to stay. He wants forever. 

Unable to stay away, he crawls back onto the bed and kisses his way up her body, mapping her soft curves with callused fingertips. His hands roam over her waist and rib cage as he works his way up, deliberately marring her perfect skin with the slight roughness of his stubble, fulfilling a primal need to mark her body. Trailing his nose along her skin, he takes what feels like the first deep breath he’s managed in years, breathing in her clean scent, so human and comforting. Being with her fills him with peace, and he basks in the soft glow of her gentle eyes watching him, trusting him, giving him something back of his own humanity. 

“What is it about you?” he whispers into her skin, not expecting an answer, and not receiving one.

When his lips reach her breasts, he can’t help but taste them, closing his mouth around one firm bud and enjoying the luxury of her soft femininity. He fondles the other breast gently, closing his eyes and resting against the steady rise and fall of her chest. “So beautiful, Felicity,” he murmurs.

Her breath catches when he says her name, causing him to look up and meet her wide blue gaze. 

“Felicity,” he repeats, and as she looks back at him with mild apprehension, the truth dawns on him. “That is your real name, isn’t it?” 

Something shifts in her eyes, giving way to an open honesty that shatters him. “Yes,” she whispers, causing something bright and huge to bloom in his chest.

They hold each other’s eyes for a long, uninterrupted moment.

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, brushing reverent fingers along her cheekbones. She closes her eyes, surrendering to the pull of sleep. They both know she doesn’t need to ask him what he’s thanking her for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THERE! Thanks for sticking with me and being so patient. This fic definitely grew a little out of control, whoops! 
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait. Please please let me know you're still reading with a little comment. It means wayyy more to me than it probably should. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone's hanging in there! One more chapter to go!

**Author's Note:**

> This is another one-shot that got away...who is surprised at this point?
> 
> Chapter 2 is done and just needs a little polish (okay no honestly it's too much smut and I need to cut some out); chapter 3 _could_ be considered done, but I have a feeling I'm going to expand on it a little before I publish it.
> 
> But anyway, the plan is to post the next two chapters over the weekend. IF YOU LIKE THIS, I WILL WORK FASTER WITH ENCOURAGEMENT. 😉😆😘
> 
> OH! Guess my clues in the comments! Remember, they are a person, a place, and a thing. (Though to be fair the thing doesn't actually show up until the third chapter).


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